If she accepted his plea to accompany him to the opera, others would see her presence as a public proposal.
Chloe would know it was so much more than that. His private box was a window into his soul. An invitation was a declaration of love. Lawrence would be welcoming her into his world, just as she had done for him.
And if she did not accept…
Lawrence would have only himself to blame for a life without love.
36
The sun was setting when Chloe stopped her driver in front of St. Giles’s church, at the same post where she’d first met Bean. It seemed fitting.
The woman in charge of the Women’s Employment Charity rushed out to greet her.
“Thank you so much, Miss Wynchester.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Your donation will aid countless parishioners to obtain posts and receive wages. This will change so many lives.”
Chloe was happy to help. She’d kept a few of her plainest clothes for the future adventures of Jane Brown, but the majority were inside the trunks several volunteers were now hauling into the church.
Trunks delivered, she turned back toward her carriage.
A little boy of perhaps six years of age stood awestruck in front of it, staring upward, eyes wide.
His shoes were too small for his feet. The tips had been cut away to allow his toes to protrude. His threadbare shirt and trousers hung large on his narrow frame, as though he was meant to grow into them. She doubted the tattered material would last until summer.
Chloe bent to one knee before him, mindless of the grime now seeping through her skirt. She could afford new clothes. This boy could not.
She reached into an inner pocket and handed him a simple drawstring bag.
He shook his head. “Wot do I want wiv a girl’s purse?”
Ah. He wasn’t a pickpocket, like her. Not yet, anyway.
“There’s a gold sovereign inside.” The one Bean had given her here, at this very spot. “And warm red mittens.”
The latter proved the more convincing. He snatched the bag from her hand as if afraid she would change her mind, and raced into one of the many dilapidated homes without a backward glance.
Chloe pushed to her feet and swiped the dirt from her knee. The mittens now had a new home, with an owner who would appreciate them.
As to the coin…who knew? Perhaps it would purchase a new pair of shoes. Or perhaps a decade from now a young man would pass the sovereign along to another child in need.
She felt lighter on the road back to Islington. The wardrobes in her bedchamber were no longer bursting at the seams. Rather, they contained the items Chloe actually wished to wear. There was something for every eventuality: a neighborhood assembly here, a clandestine raid there.
She didn’t need the Duke of Faircliffe or the world of the ton. Let them disparage her and discard her if they wished. She was done allowing herself to be hurt.
As she walked up her front path, she pasted a carefree expression on her face for her siblings’ sake. She might not be happy yet, but shewouldbe. She did not want them to worry about her…or, worse, to pity her.
Graham and Elizabeth were seated at the dining table when Chloe summoned the courage to walk into the room. They smiled at her as if they, too, were pretending today had been a normal day like any other. But the newspapers were there on the table.
“I’m so sorry, Chloe.” Elizabeth’s words were gentle. “We want you to be happy, and we don’t know how to make it so. If you want to set fire to everything, we support you. If you’re in love with Faircliffe, we support that, too.”
“He’s going in the Thames either way,” Graham warned. “But I’ll fish him back out if you love him.”
Tommy and Marjorie walked in and took seats close to Chloe.
“What are we talking about?” Tommy asked.
“He Who Does Not Deserve Our Sister,” Graham answered.
“And who shall never be mentioned again,” Elizabeth added.
